Solitude
by Aladailey
Summary: He had greeted her with 'No,' because he thought she had come to make yet another point on why he should join up. But, no, that wasn't why she was there. [oneshot, hslo, pre–esb]


**Author's Note: **I haven't posted anything in what may be close to forever, and school has been hell and this popped into my head as I was doing Physics homework. :) Short, but I hope you enjoy. Please review!

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He, of all people, understood what it was like to need to be alone for a while – seconds, minutes, hours, days. Living in a space ship for most of his life with nothing for a companion other than Chewie and a few bottles of alcohol, he had learned to appreciate solitude and having no one around him to try to influence and pressure him.

Chewie was his best friend; a companion, with mutual loyalty and trust which were the strongest links in the chain, and attached to each other so not even one of them laser swords the kid had could break them apart without completely destroying them. They were friends – and he knew that, out of everyone, Chewie was the one he was able to depend on – and would sacrifice themselves for the other and all that jazz – but they were never the 'drinking party and sex stories' type of pair. And not only because talking to a Wookiee about 'last night at the bar' (or, in Chewie's case, 'we were at that one tree I was tellin' you about...') was ten types of awkward.

No. They barely talked; they just _knew_ each other and questions were unnecessary and, frankly, he tended to get annoyed when people spoke things they really didn't need to. They existed with each other but in a familiar and light silence. They liked it that way.

It may have been because of this that he didn't seem to know the full power and effect of words (judging by the countless yelling matches that he always seemed to start, even in the times he didn't want to) – but he knew about them enough to know that _she_ spoke them and heard them quite too much in her short lifetime.

She was the type of person that always talked because it was her job, and was constantly in company so she could interpret and use precise tones and inflections and interweave them double meanings and polite jokes and carefully articulate difficult words that he ain't never heard before. She talked and talked and talked and night and day a messenger came to her door when she was in bed and pulled her out to an emergency conference.

She was stressed, but the only symptom was the bit of skin under her chin disappearing rapidly and her cheeks hollowing out (after all, the only skin that wasn't draped in white was her face).

One day, she had come to him as he was wiping engine oil off on his pants and he had greeted her with 'No,' because he had thought she had come because she came up with another point on _why_ he should, exactly, officially join up. But it wasn't why she had come.

She watched him for a long moment, and he watched back, and they had just stood watching each other doing nothing and he could see uncertainty in her sepia brown eyes (a sight of which, of course, made him think he had inhaled a bit too much engine fumes).

'Can I,' she had started. 'can I stay in your ship for a while?'

And he had said something a bit suggestive which proved his aforementioned inability to use words to his advantage, and watched as she bit her lip and turned to walk away so he called to the back of her thin neck and small shoulders. She stopped to look at him and he shrugged and said, 'Yeah.'

He didn't ask why, because he had a feeling and just went back to his work as she hurried up the ramp and turned left in the direction of his quarters.

They ignored each other and spoke nothing of it; anywhere from a few days a week to once a month she would stand by the bottom of his ramp and he would nod and she'd go on up. Sometimes she slept, sometimes he heard her pace or rummage around through gods know what; he could hear through the walls not designed to stop sound. Others muttered and, in some cases (though whose will not be mentioned), spun wild theories as to why every now and then the Princess disappeared into the Smuggler's ship. However, all people really knew was that nothing outside of this concerning their relationship changed much (screaming matches were still a mild form of entertainment on base) and to not try to disturb her while she was in there, because then the ship's captain would yell a firm curse and send the person off, red-faced and embarrassed.

This continued for years, until things had gotten so bad between the two of them that not even his ship was her haven anymore; she refused to step in it unless it was absolutely necessary, seeing as it was now the tool with which he would leave them. She took to hanging out with the kid and others more her own age, laughing and becoming steadily more comfortable as his ship's cabin remained empty – but he could see her rub her temples or her smile only halfway cover her face from time to time.

One day, she walked up to him and he looked down at her as he fiddled with a ship part in his hands. They had gotten into a particularly bad fight that morning until she looked fit to burst into angry tears and finally stormed off, only to be stopped by Dodonna who said that the Princess was needed at MR S-2, didn't she remember? She composed more quickly than he thought mathematically possible and promptly walked on.

They looked at each other and she was trying to think of something to say, but then she talked too much so he decided to interrupt her.

'Yeah, you can go on up.'

She gave him a quick, strained smile and quietly disappeared again as he turned back to his work, as if she hadn't been there at all.


End file.
